


Dirty Liaisons

by Saziikins



Series: Dirty Politics [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Lestrade in glasses, Light BDSM, M/M, Politics AU, Press and Tabloids, Press reaction to homosexuality, Rimming, age gap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 20:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4319907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saziikins/pseuds/Saziikins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a love affair the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom simply shouldn't indulge in. But that doesn't mean he's going to stop. </p><p>Greg as Prime Minister and Sherlock as his employee AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Liaisons

**Author's Note:**

> There's a bit of plot with this porn ;-)
> 
> This series got away with me, as usual. There will be a third part.

He knows that how ever cocky the man seems, there’s a little kid inside looking for approval. Even when he’s fighting against normal and mundane and average, there’s a longing inside him to be those things just to make it easier. Greg knows he’ll always think of Sherlock the way he looks naked. Unabashed, unashamed, uninhibited.

He looked like that as he sashayed out of the bathroom, hair still dripping wet. He wore the towel low on his hips, and he looked like an almost-angel, torn somewhere between heaven and the very pits of the blackest hell.

He was leading Greg somewhere, he knew that much, but whether he’d meet his maker or the devil, he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t bring himself to care as much as he had six months ago. This was an affair he should never have indulged in. But he couldn't bring himself to stop. 

They looked at each other for a few long seconds, Greg lounging on the bed, surrounded by paperwork. Sherlock’s lips were parted a fraction, and he seemed ignorant of his goosebumps and the droplets of water landing onto his shoulders and collarbone.

“I didn’t know you were back,” Greg murmured, pushing his reading glasses back up his nose as he picked his papers up.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Sherlock replied, and Greg watched out of the corner of his eye as he whipped the towel from his hips, using it rub against his hair instead. His cock was hardening even as Greg tried not to look, and Sherlock rolled his shoulders in an exaggerated fashion. “You should have joined me in the bath.”

“Too much work to do.”

“But it’s one in the morning,” Sherlock murmured, padding over to him, dropping the towel onto the floor. Greg lifted his eyes, starting at Sherlock’s muscular thighs, slowly skimming them over his prominent hip bones, his flat stomach, firm but not muscular chest. His throat, exposed, cheekbones framing his face and he was neither ugly nor beautiful, not with that disdainful look on his face.

Greg let out a huff of laughter and seconds later, Sherlock was joining him in it, lighting up his face. They held one another’s eyes, chuckles and despairing groans being drawn out of them both as they laughed at simply being together again. Greg grinned and took his glasses off, putting them down on the side.

Sherlock braced one knee against the side of the bed and leaned down and Greg met him in the kiss, slow for only seconds before they deepened it with practised ease. They knew far too much about one another’s technique, the ways to have the other one right where they wanted him in minutes.

Sherlock straddled Greg’s lap without breaking the kiss, cupping his face in his hands. Greg groaned into his mouth, holding Sherlock’s hips. “Hang on,” he managed to get out, tilting his head as Sherlock’s lips latched onto his neck. “Sherlock. I have a paperwork system here. I’m not fucking you on my notes for tomorrow’s bloody Prime Minister’s Questions.”

Sherlock grinned at him, kissing him again before turning himself around, still on Greg’s lap. Greg let out an exasperated sigh, running his fingertips down Sherlock’s back, before giving his arse a squeeze. “C’mon, Sherlock. Let me move this stuff first.”

But Sherlock only leaned forward, slowly, pushing his arse out, as though he was attempting yoga right there on Greg’s lap. Greg groaned in response, giving Sherlock’s arse a playful smack. Sherlock let out a soft yelp before he began to flick through the papers, arranged in five specific piles. Or they were. Until Sherlock began to move them around.

“Sherlock,” Greg warned. “I have a system here.” He pursed his lips, waiting. Sherlock continued to read, flicking through the papers. “You asked for it,” Greg murmured, grabbing Sherlock’s hips and canting them up.

Sherlock let out a disgruntled sound until Greg managed to grip his arse, holding his cheeks apart and pressing his tongue against his hole. Sherlock moaned then, pressing back towards his mouth like a dirty wanton thing. Greg licked one slow, wet stripe between his cheeks before flicking his tongue against him while Sherlock gripped his legs.

He wasn’t reading anymore. He was too busy shuddering for that, biting back groans. Greg knew the room was well sound-proofed, but they stayed quiet out of habit now, too used to fucking in hotel rooms where one noise could land their sorry arses in the press.

And then Sherlock rubbed his nose against Greg’s rapidly hardening dick through his thin cotton pyjamas. “Fuck,” Greg muttered, releasing Sherlock so he could tug his trousers down. Sherlock laughed as they got tangled around Greg’s ankles, and he kicked them off, gripping the back of Sherlock’s neck and pushing his body back down. Not to angle for the blowjob, but so he could get his tongue back against his arse.

He smelt and tasted like soap, that expensive stuff his staff insisted on putting in his bathroom. He didn’t complain anymore, not at the hints of vanilla on Sherlock’s skin.

He worked Sherlock over with his tongue and seconds later, Sherlock was taking his cock in his mouth in return, lowering his lips over him slowly, flicking his tongue out. Greg moaned, and he lapped against Sherlock’s hole, giving his thigh a gentle smack.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed out, reaching aimlessly for the drawer while Sherlock bobbed his head, swallowing him down to the root in one quick motion. Greg would go to hell, the very depths of it, over and over again to have Sherlock’s mouth around him. He grabbed the packets of lube, ripping them open with his teeth and slicking his fingers.

Sherlock flicked his tongue against the head of Greg’s cock, paying attention to the slit before lowering his head again. Greg pushed his finger roughly inside him and Sherlock moaned around his cock, causing vibrations he was sure he could feel in every nerve. “Shit,” Greg muttered, curling his finger. “Stop now. I want to come inside you.”

Sherlock lifted his head and flashed him a pleased grin, getting up onto all fours so Greg had better access to his arse. Greg grinned and leaned down to lick around the rim, still fucking Sherlock slowly with a single finger.

Sherlock was a greedy, impatient thing, thrusting his hips back. “Greg,” he muttered, staring at him from over his shoulder. “I’ve waited three weeks.”

Greg laughed, thrusting two fingers inside and biting Sherlock’s arse. “That means I’ve waited three weeks too, you sod. And you can wait for it.”

“I don’t do waiting.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to,” Greg told him, removing his fingers. “Come on, Sherlock. Spread your arse for me.” Sherlock rolled his eyes at him but reached back with one arm, gripping onto one buttock as he exposed his hole. Greg moaned and leaned forward, flicking his tongue against him.

Sherlock was panting, trembling, doing his best to keep himself upright while Greg lapped at his hole. Greg knew all-too-well the ways to get Sherlock going, not that it took much. But Sherlock loved to be lathered in attention. And Greg loved to lather him in it in return, loved to make him whine, beg, and shove his arse back against Greg’s cock.

Greg lifted his head. “I think you’re ready already,” he breathed out, thrusting two fingers back inside his lover. Sherlock moaned and rocked his hips, spreading his legs further apart.

“Go on,” he whined, dropping his head down onto the bed. “Do it.”

“You want me to fuck you, Sherlock?” Greg asked, kissing over his lower back.

“Yes.”

Greg smacked his arse, not hard, just enough for the sound to make an impact. “Yes what?”

“Yes, _please_ ,” Sherlock whined and Greg grabbed a condom from the side. When he finally pushed home, he had Sherlock on his back, his legs wrapped around his waist. They kissed, a dirty kiss, full of smacking noises and purpose. Greg gripped Sherlock’s hip as he drove into him, and neither of them were capable of words anymore.

Sherlock Holmes was his undoing, and he gripped his hair and forced his head back, kissing over his neck and throat. Sherlock was jerking himself off, arching up, digging his heels into Greg’s back to urge him on. Greg grunted, bit down on Sherlock’s neck and then his bottom lip, moaning as Sherlock’s tongue slid against his.

He tried to hold off his climax for as long as possible, tried to retain the feeling of Sherlock, so hot, so tight around him. Tried to maintain his unapologetically relentless rhythm. The moan he let out was guttural, his lips against Sherlock’s neck where it met his jaw. Sherlock was arching up and coming with him, spurting over his stomach, clawing at Greg’s back.

Greg collapsed onto him with a long groan, closing his eyes as he got his breath back.

“Being squashed,” Sherlock grumbled from under him and Greg reluctantly slid out of him, collapsing down onto his back beside him. He opened one eye to look at Sherlock, who was sprawled out like a starfish. Greg rolled onto his side, raising his eyebrows.

“Stop staring,” Sherlock murmured without opening his eyes, rolling onto his side and reaching for the box of tissues. Greg snorted, and plucked a few from the box, taking the condom off and cleaning himself up.

He stared down at the creased paperwork on the bed, beginning to stack it up together, order be damned.

“At least you didn’t come over it this time,” he mused aloud.

“It would been an improvement,” Sherlock replied, sliding off the bed.

“Sherlock,” Greg warned.

“Fine. I won’t criticise your… people.”

“Your colleagues.”

“Hardly,” Sherlock muttered, finding his clothes on the desk. Greg sighed and leaned against the pillows as he watched Sherlock pull his underwear on.

“Y’could… you could stay, you know?”

“Oh yes,” Sherlock replied with a false smile. “And in the morning, I’ll wave to your cleaner and make small talk with your security guards about the weather, and maybe I’ll sit half naked at your kitchen table eating toast, and playing footsie with you under the table.”

Greg rolled his eyes. “You’re paranoid, Sherlock.”

“People will do anything for money, haven’t you realised that yet? They won’t think twice about selling you out to the press. Six months as Prime Minister, and you’re still deluded into thinking the world is some perfect place where everyone skips around and does their best for humankind.”

“I’m not as naive as you think I am.”

“Oh no?”

“No. You’re my little bitter piece on the side, who takes pleasure out of making me feel guilty for fucking your brains out.”

“The guilt you have, Mr Prime Minister, is entirely self-administered.” They glared at one another for a few moments before Sherlock wandered over to the bed and kissed Greg’s forehead. “I don’t fuck you to stay on the payroll,” Sherlock said.

Greg managed a laugh. “You’re a brat.”

Sherlock grinned and shrugged on his coat. “Do well at Prime Minister Questions. I’ll be watching.” And with that he spun around and left, leaving Greg thoroughly satisfied but unable to bathe in the afterglow.

He read through his notes one more time, revising for questions that may not come, before he slid under the covers and tried to sleep. As ever, he spent the first hour awake, wracking his brain for ideas and pledges and ways to cut unemployment.

It was a good job Sherlock, during the entirety of their six-month affair, had not stayed the night. He would have been driven mad by Greg’s restlessness, and Greg was sure he would not have put up with it. He seemed to have been delighted with being Greg’s piece of dirt on the side, until Greg and his wife announced their pending divorce in the press.

Since then, Sherlock was a constant presence on Greg’s staff but a ghost in Greg’s bedroom. There one minute, then gone the next. Oh it was satisfying. Sex with Sherlock was always intense and fucking filthy. But he’d sooner be out of the country than developing anything resembling a relationship with Greg.

Or so Greg had thought.

Nine months into their affair, and he had Sherlock beneath him, hands tied to the headboard while Greg rocked his hips, slow and deliberate. It was almost sensual, and out of the norm for them. Greg pushed his dick inside then almost pulled out entirely, staring down at the point where their bodies met.

Sherlock wasn’t bossing him around, wasn’t making any demands at all. He just gasped with every slow thrust, his cock twitching against his stomach, leaking precome onto his skin. His cheeks were flushed, arms pulled tort above him.

Greg flattened one hand against Sherlock’s chest, tanned compared to Sherlock’s pale skin. He’d spent a week in America, negotiating with the President, and things had gone swimmingly. He had Sherlock to thank for that. Sherlock, who deduced the US delegation with practised ease. And this was his reward.

Sherlock was strung out, a combination of the fine whiskey Greg had brought back with them from America and the illicit Cuban cigar he had been given as a gift. The room smelt like smoke and sex, and it filled Greg’s senses, and he knew he’d come to associate them with Sherlock.

He leaned down and kissed Sherlock, pinching his nipples and pushing his tongue into his mouth. Sherlock was wrecked, panting, desperate for release. Greg had tied him up hours ago. He’d poured whiskey on his skin (the cleaner wouldn’t be impressed with the state of his sheets in the morning) and licked it off. He’d fucked Sherlock’s mouth, and come on his beautiful skin.

And when he finally was able to get his dick hard again, he fucked him, but not like Sherlock wanted. No, it was slow, so slow.

“Do you love me?” Sherlock breathed out against Greg’s lips, and he stilled his hips, opening his eyes and staring down at him.

But he wasn’t ready with a response, had barely acknowledged his feelings at all over the past nine months if he were honest, so he kissed him. Sherlock was an enigma too dangerous to lose his heart to. So he answered with the kiss, deep and hot, knowing it wasn’t answer enough. But he had no other choice.

And whatever Sherlock made of what he did and didn’t say with his mouth, he sill had him panting beneath him, and it didn’t seem to matter that they had fallen into the depths of an affair neither had the courage nor inclination to break.

When he finally let Sherlock come, he was no longer worrying about his question.

But they slept together. Greg spooned up behind Sherlock, an arm around his waist as he pressed tiny kisses to his neck. And it didn’t seem to matter that they’d never done this before, and that the gesture may have answered the difficult question at any rate.

Sherlock was already dressed when Greg woke up in the morning, but they shared a soft kiss before he left.

A week passed, and though being Prime Minister did not come with a proper routine, it had been a good seven days. Accomplishments were hard to come by in his world. He questioned every decision, and had them questioned too. He had people to keep on side, and promises to keep and sometimes the bigger picture seemed hard to visualise. But the week had been a good one, with a close vote going his way in the House Of Commons. He had spent a rare hour off with Sherlock, both naked in bed as they went through his speech for the next day.

It was why the front page came as such a shock.

Prime Minister’s secret gay love affair.

And not a word of the report had been a lie but Sally still said: “Deny it.”

Greg raised his eyebrows. “Can’t. I can’t deny it. Denying it makes me a liar, and that was something I promised never to be.”

“Mr Prime-”

“-Not right now,” Greg warned, and he sent her from his office to give him a few minutes to think. It was just gone midnight. The front pages were being printed as he sat and considered. Front pages with his big gay love affair splashed across the front.

When Sherlock arrived, it was 2am, and if he was affected by the story, he didn’t show it. He sat in the corner of the room, a resolute expression on his face. They didn’t say a word.

“We have to say something,” Sally told him, a notebook in her hands. “How long has it been going on?”

“Since after I announced the divorce.”

“Is that the truth?”

“No,” Greg conceded. “But it’s going to be our truth.”

“This story. It has to have come from a really reliable source, sir,” Sally told him. “They wouldn’t have printed it unless they had absolute proof. Whoever it was may know it was longer.”

“It’s a matter of two months,” Greg said. “I don’t think it’s relevant.”

“Sherlock is on your payroll. That’s relevant.”

“Sherlock’s been on my payroll since the day after the General Election. Before our affair started.”

Sally glanced between them. “Affair?” she asked. “Or relationship?”

“Does it matter?”

She nodded. “It matters a lot.”

“You should deny everything,” Sherlock murmured. “And you should sue them for libel. Their only defence in court is the truth defence, and I truly doubt they have evidence. Perhaps admit to a one-night stand, or a brief fling at most, but not more than that.”

“I’m not ashamed,” Greg murmured, looking over at him. Sherlock looked so cold, but Greg saw the doubt in his eyes. He wasn’t ready to lose it, what they had. “If Sherlock was a woman, this wouldn’t be as big a deal.”

“But he’s not,” Sally said. “And man or woman, it matters to the press.”

Greg sighed and a ran a hand through his hair. “A brief, very brief statement. I am in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes.” He glanced across at Sherlock, for confirmation that was okay, and Sherlock nodded once. “And it’s early days. But it has no bearing on my role as Prime Minister. Don’t make reference to my sexuality or the fact that Sherlock’s a man. In this day and age, it shouldn’t sodding matter.”

“Yes, sir,” Sally said, getting up from the chair.

Greg didn’t have much to say after that. He rose from his desk and logged off his computer. “Come on,” he said to Sherlock. “Bed.” Sherlock frowned at him, unmoving. “Not like it matters now if you come to my bedroom.”

Sherlock got up and walked out first, leading the way to the living quarters. He undressed and got under the covers without saying a word, and Greg slipped in behind him, reaching out to rub Sherlock’s tense shoulder.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Sherlock finally said.

“Done what?”

“Chosen me.”

Greg sighed and tugged him close, stroking his stomach. “Too late for that,” he whispered. “I already chose you. We knew this would happen.”

“Not this fast.”

“I know.” Greg pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. “Goodnight, Sherlock.”

“Goodnight.” Greg released him and rolled onto his back. When he woke up, Sherlock was gone. 


End file.
